“Stop telling me what to do! You’re just like Tom.” Gabriel wants to fight again. We are on our way to rehearsal. Driving up Germantown Pike heading into Norristown, traffic is thick, and the heat is oppressive. Why can’t he just pay attention to what he’s doing and leave me alone? These petty power struggles make me tired.
“I’m the director, I’m supposed to tell you what to do in regards to the characters you are portraying. It’s my job to maintain the integrity of the piece. Besides, who the hell is Tom?”
Tom directed Gabriel in another play. I don’t understand what this has to do with me. Always somebody else, always some other situation, he blames on me. Tom, Clara, Vette, his twelve-year-old daughter Daisy, all gave him a hard time. So why does he want to bring this bullshit to me? Because I’m his safe haven. He is secure in the truth, I will not attack him, I will do him no harm. Apparently he needs to have these conversations, but not with me. I ain’t the one, I wasn’t even there. Believe it or not Gabriel thinks he lives “in the moment”.
His cord of continuity is broken, each moment a bead, rolling around the floor without context. His camera has a distorted lens. Gabriel lives his life in a fun house mirror. I get it. Rapid weight loss has left me dysmorphic. I have no idea what size I am. No idea of what I truly look like. My reflection is an alien image.I don’t blame that on him.
“You said….” No, I did not. He relates conversations we have never had. He chastises me for things I’ve never done.
“When did I say that? What were we doing? Where were we going? What was I wearing?" Gabriel can’t answer any of these questions. He can’t answer because it never happened. At least it never happened with me. This makes him even angrier. He thinks I am pulling some kind of Jedi Mindtrick.
“Yeah, well, you better stop telling me what to do.” I tell him he can always get another director. I remind him of his options. I also tell him to stop putting words in my mouth. Taking full responsibility for my stuff is not always easy, but it’s always right. I did not audition for the roles Gabriel insists on scripting for me. I want him to stop.
“You wanna hit me, don’t you?” He is absolutely correct. I would like to haul off and slap some sense into his bald ass head. Pull him up short for a change. My hands remain placid in my lap.
He claims I am obsessed, but I remember. I remember Gabriel tried to get me to act out his aggression.
